Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Eighty-Three
Bright burst of sun through the wooden blinds.
Cool morning breeze.
Counting the eggs again. Five pale blue with brown speckles.
I really hope I never get tired of this—of any of this. The colors in the sky, the humped hills and craggy mountains, the bent trees, the spotty cellular service.
7 years. Lucky number 7?
Now he gets to put faces to the names.
But I don’t eat them. I really don’t. Only when they come off the grill with a good char, dipped in mustard and ketchup. Very elementary.
Am I doing too much for this? Maybe. But maybe not.
“In a culture of overconsumption, I’m simply choosing to do less of everything. Or rather, I’m choosing what matters. Am I becoming one of them? No. I’m just becoming more me.”
2021 Pax Magik Vineyard Sonoma Coast Syrah.
40.
